


the fences we mended

by sophiahelix



Series: Tumblr Prompts [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Breaking Up & Making Up, M/M, Post-Break Up, Tumblr Prompt, break up make up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 22:03:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11472573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiahelix/pseuds/sophiahelix
Summary: “Come on, come on,” he hears Victor mutter, in Russian. A cold thrill goes through Yuuri, because he remembers this, from the few events they were together in last year. Before, he’d never placed high enough to know anything like that about Victor.Now he knows everything. The way Victor looks in the morning, rumpled in bed, and his warm-up sequence and his favorite television programs. The low tones of his voice when he's falling asleep and the touch of his hands. Everything Yuuri’s had to forget.





	the fences we mended

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to downjune, who gave me the Tumblr prompt: 
> 
> _Post Break Up Kiss - The kiss that catches both of you off guard, but says I miss you, I’m sorry and please love me again all at once without any words being spoken._

Maybe it would have been different if he'd stayed in St Petersburg, Yuuri thinks, watching Victor put on his blade guards.

His eyes follow Victor around the rink to the kiss and cry, where Yakov is waiting. It’s always awkward, seeing Yakov again; it brings back creeping, crawling memories of the night Victor missed the podium at Skate Canada last year, when Yakov cornered Yuuri in the hall. The way Yakov picked up the gold medal around Yuuri’s neck and tugged at it, hard enough to hurt. _Is it worth it?_ he'd spat, in his guttural English. _Holding him back so you can win? You think love is enough?_

And the worst of it, Yuuri thinks, as they wait for Victor’s scores to come up, is that Yakov didn't say anything Yuuri hadn't been thinking to himself for months. It just sounded even worse outside his own head.

There's a cheer, shaking the Palais Omnisports to the rafters. Victor’s scored six points higher than Yuuri, putting him in the lead. Leo smiles and shrugs, moving out from under the blanket he's sharing with Guang-Hong and off the couch. This puts him out of the final; Yuuri doesn't think his international career will ever really take off without a quad. Guang-Hong slides over to the space he left, still clutching a stuffed panda on his lap, and they continue their conversation.

Yuuri moves over too, and then he waits.

Otabek’s music starts to play, brassy and triumphant. Yuuri stares straight forward, watching him begin his routine. They spent a little time together in Russia, not much. The four of them got dinner after practice on occasion, and there was one ill-fated excursion planned by Victor, ending with a drenched picnic and Otabek and Yuri screaming at each other before disappearing to make out on the deck of a ferry boat in the rain. As far as Yuuri knows they're still together; it's probably easier now, with Yuri out injured for the season. Competition takes its toll.

The couch dips, and Victor sits next to him.

Yuuri could find him blindfolded in a crowded room. The heat of his presence and the rich scent of his sweat, the way everyone around is always drawn to him. Leo and Guang-Hong stop talking for a moment, first greeting him and then letting him set the tone. He hasn't won a major competition in almost two years but Victor Nikiforov is still the king wherever he goes.

It's hard to breathe. Yuuri concentrates on watching Otabek perform. Otabek made the Grand Prix podium last year and his technical components are even better now, but he's still working on the artistic portion, making his steps flow. Yuuri tenses during his big quad-double-triple pass, but he makes it through, just stepping out on the final landing. It's good skating, getting better.

If he thinks about watching it, he won't have to look at Victor. 

This is their first event together this season, and the first time they've seen each other since World’s in spring, when Victor took silver for the second year in a row and Yuuri didn't place. At the time he was almost grateful he'd flubbed his long program; anything to keep away from Victor’s icy, hurt gaze, and the echoes of what they'd said at the Grand Prix final, three months before. 

_I'm sorry_ , Yuuri had said, closing his suitcase on the other side of the room. _I'm doing the right thing this time. I'm making the right choice. For you._

And Victor, arms tucked across his body, finally closed his mouth and looked up. _You're a coward._

There was so much Yuuri could've said, about how out of place he felt in Russia and how lonely he felt in Japan, about Yakov cornering him and Yuri sneering at him, about the difficulty of practicing with no one to correct him, about how much emptier his room felt at night after they'd hung up. But he thought of the dark circles under Victor’s eyes whenever they met, the shine of his own new-won gold medal compared to Victor’s bronze, and said, _Yes. Yes, I am._

He feels Victor shift on the couch next to him, here in Paris. Victor took gold at Skate America, and this season is looking like a return to form. Next year he’ll be thirty, and it might be his last season, or it might not. All Yuuri ever wanted was for Victor to have the space to be his best.

Otabek is finishing his routine, with a second flubbed jump, under-rotated. He's looked tired from the start, like he spent all his energy on his brilliant skate yesterday. Yuuri doesn't think he’ll overtake Victor, but Yuuri’s own spot is insecure, given his short program score. Otabek leaves the ice, and then they wait.

“Come on, come on,” he hears Victor mutter, in Russian. A cold thrill goes through Yuuri, because he remembers this, from the few events they were together in last year. Before, he’d never placed high enough to know anything like that about Victor.

Now he knows everything. The way Victor looks in the morning, rumpled in bed, and his warm-up sequence and his favorite television programs. The low tones of his voice when he's falling asleep and the touch of his hands. Everything Yuuri’s had to forget.

Otabek’s scores come up, and he's taken second place. The crowd cheers as Victor rises, waving at the cameras that are always on them. Yuuri tries his best to ignore them but Victor never does; a life lived to show at full advantage. Yuuri never knew which was worse: Victor acting his showy self in private too, like he'd forgotten to turn it off, or when he was weary and drawn from giving too much to other people. Yuuri had never wanted to be one more burden, or another member of his audience either.

There's so much swirling in his head as he smiles at the cameras and gets up too, following Victor to the rink and being congratulated as he goes. Third is enough to qualify him for the final. Enough prize money to justify the season. Enough.

They go through the ceremony, arms full of flowers, medals hung around their necks. Yuuri collects himself enough to appreciate it, against the uncertainty of his future. He still loves this, as long as he can have it. They take pictures after, arms slung around each other, and then they turn to leave the podium and — 

Victor’s eyes aren't that shade of painful, chilling blue anymore. The hurt is gone, along with the cold. They're warm, and sad, and infinitely understanding, and the only thing Yuuri can focus on in the whole vast building as Victor comes closer.

He takes a stumbling step back, slipping off the podium onto the ice. Victor’s hand darts out to grab his arm, steadying him. Yuuri’s mouth falls open, and he's not even sure what he's about to say, but someone else grabs hold of him from behind, too, laughing a little. It's a man from the skating federation, joking that he's too valuable to lose to a broken ankle, and when Yuuri turns his head to reply Victor lets go, stepping down and skating away across the ice. Yuuri tries to listen to the man who caught him, but in truth he's watching Victor’s back disappear.

And then it jolts through him, this sense of terrible, aching wrongness. He's spent so much of his life watching Victor from a distance like this, and suddenly he can't bear to do it again, not when he could speak to him, have a conversation. Yuuri thinks they can manage at least that much.

“Sorry,” he blurts out to the man in the suit, and takes off across the ice with big, slicing strides. 

Victor is already out of sight, but Yuuri can guess where he's gone, down the hall towards the dressing room. He claps on his blade guards and moves as quickly as he can, dodging well-wishers and media as he goes. He pushes through the crowd, into the empty hall, and turns the corner to see Victor’s shining head before him.

Yuuri hesitates. He doesn't even know what he's going to say, or if he should say anything at all. But he's come this far, so he nerves himself and calls, “Victor!”

It takes a long moment, but Victor stops and turns, slowly. There's less warmth in his eyes now, more apprehension, but he stays where he is, waiting for Yuuri.

Yuuri walks slower than before, more carefully. It's ridiculously clumsy to move in skates, and his glasses are still in his bag in the dressing room. He's always felt better with the world slightly blurred like this, though, resisting Celestino’s efforts to get him into contacts. He feels safer, more himself, when he can't quite see what's around him. 

He can see Victor though, coming clearer as he gets closer. Victor’s always been the clear spot in his vision, really; the one thing he's clung to through the years. Even now, after everything.

Victor doesn't say anything when Yuuri stops, just looks at him. He's so beautiful still, tall and proud, the gold medal around his neck, and it seems incredible that Yuuri used to be allowed to touch him, that they were ever that close. Like a dream Yuuri had once, before everything changed, becoming real.

His eyes fall to the medal and he finds something to say at last. “Congratulations.”

Victor laughs, short and disbelieving. “That's what you chased me down to say?”

“Um,” Yuuri says, looking up. He can feel the flush rising in his face. “You skated so well tonight. This whole season — it's good to see you where you used to be.”

“Where I used to be,” Victor repeats, and a strange look comes over his face, his eyes narrowing. He shakes his head and his expression softens again. He sighs. “Yuuri…”

The heat flares in Yuuri’s face as Victor reaches a hand towards him. He reaches for the bronze medal around Yuuri’s neck, though, lifting it into the light. “Congratulations to you too,” Victor says, gently. “And good luck next month.”

Yuuri snorts, without even thinking about it. “I'll be lucky not to finish last,” he says. “With the younger competitors coming up, and Yurio back next year — I think this really is my last season.”

He's unprepared for the change in Victor; his hand tightens on Yuuri’s medal and he takes in a sharp, audible breath. When Yuuri looks up Victor’s staring down at him, hard, and his eyes shine with tears.

“Oh, Yuuri,” he says, softly. “My Yuuri. It's been a hard year for you, hasn't it?”

Yuuri blinks. It's so strange to be back here suddenly, to hear the low warm intimacy in Victor’s voice, to feel his nearness. He'd gotten so used to having that, two years ago, and in some ways it's been easier not to have it at all than to try to do what they did, make it work in fits and starts. It just hurt more when they were apart again.

But he still wants this so much, and as he gazes up he knows that Victor can tell. Victor drops the medal and reaches to cradle Yuuri’s face with both hands, sighing softly. Yuuri’s heart is beating so hard, and he's trying to remember everything that went wrong before, and the reasons he left. All he can do is stare into Victor’s knowing, loving eyes as he leans in.

The kiss washes everything away, for as long as it lasts. The soft murmur Victor makes against his mouth; the sweet way his lips move, caressing; the way he holds Yuuri close. Yuuri fumbles to rest his hands on Victor’s chest, the sequins and chiffon of his costume rough under Yuuri’s palms, and kisses back, caught. The blood rushes in his ears, heating his face, and the slick softness of Victor’s mouth is enticing, enthralling. He takes a clumsy step forward, sliding his hands up to rest on Victor’s neck and pulling him down. 

Victor leans back to take a breath, and the spell is broken. Awareness crashes through Yuuri; where he is, who he's with. Still in Victor’s arms, still flushed and breathing hard, but nothing is as simple as it seemed a few seconds ago, with their mouths pressed together.

He should move away, he thinks, but he doesn't, and Victor’s arms slide around his shoulders, embracing him closer. He finds himself with his face pressed against Victor’s chest, hands clasped behind his neck.

“Yuuri,” Victor whispers, strained, against the top of his head. “Do you think…” 

Yuuri catches in a shaky breath, shoulders hitching. He hasn't heard Victor’s voice like this since that awful night last year. He shakes his head, face still buried against Victor. “I don't know.”

He feels Victor sigh. “That's not a no,” Victor says, sounding more sure, almost teasing.

Yuuri lifts his head. There are a few tears on Victor’s face, and on his own now too. He wants to tease back, make this light and easy, but it's too important. If they're going to try this again, he wants to get it right. “We could have coffee,” he says, slowly.

“Dinner,” Victor counters, and now he's smiling.

“Lunch,” Yuuri says. 

“Breakfast?” Victor murmurs, and then he leans in.

Yuuri tightens his fingers on Victor’s neck, tipping his head back before Victor can kiss him again. He smiles, tightly, and steps back out of Victor’s arms. He takes hold of Victor’s hands, though, and looks at him.

None of their problems are solved. Where to live, how to be together, how to love and work and compete. He doesn't want either of them to sacrifice for the other, and he still doesn't know how else to make it work. But he feels like he might be able to figure it out if he doesn't do it alone, and like it’s more worthwhile, more necessary, than anything he's worked for before.

“Let's start with coffee,” Yuuri says.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Mountain Goats' "No Children"
> 
> Tumblr: [sophia-helix](http://sophia-helix.tumblr.com)


End file.
